


Evolution or Revolution?

by Alyssa_bird



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, American!lock, M/M, Sherlock AU, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:45:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyssa_bird/pseuds/Alyssa_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock, I have...I have something I need to tell you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. June 1967

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: Yes, they are American. Mostly because my knowledge on 1960s culture in England? Yikes. My knowledge on 1960s American culture? Significantly better! 
> 
> Like it or lump it.

John sat impatiently, checking his watch compulsively. He watched the sun slowly make it's way behind the mountains. He admired the yellows, purples, oranges, and pinks of the sunset. 

Beautiful.

He cursed the Earth. How dare it. How dare the Earth allow such beauty on a day that felt so hideous.

He then cursed Sherlock. He had told him precisely when to arrive! He checked his watch again and sighed. That was Sherlock for you - always late. 

There was an empty lot just a mile from John's house. It was a large, abandoned piece of land with dry, yellow grass and old tires strewn everywhere. This is where they often met. John and Sherlock could seldom meet anywhere else, this was a place they could kiss openly, love openly. 

The boys often snuck out of their bedroom windows some nights to meet here, darkness giving them a camouflage, free to kiss under the stars, to hold each other in the moonlight. 

"Sorry," John heard a voice say behind him. "I'm late, I know."

Sherlock plopped next to John on the grass, immediately lacing their fingers together and giving John a quick peck on the cheek. 

"You're always late," John said, looking around the lot suspiciously.

"Oh, for God's sake, John!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Just kiss me, no one's around!"

"Better safe than-" 

Sherlock grabbed John by the jaw and pressed their lips together. John quickly lost inhibition and locked his fingers into Sherlock's curls, kissing the boy more fiercely. 

"Hmm," Sherlock murmered against the blond's lips. "Something is wrong. I can tell. I can always tell, John, you know that."

He pulled back from John's lips and stared at him.

"So are you gonna tell me what's wrong or are you gonna stare at me all day?"

"How was your day?" John asked quickly.

"Changing the subject, I see! Oh, well, I guess I'll play along. My day was dull as usual. Molly Hooper asked me to out to the drive-in again. She's always doing that, asking me out. Poor thing, little does she know..."

"Jesus, I have to fight off all the chicks from getting their hands on you."

Sherlock snorted, "Get real. Molly is the only one who isn't scared of me. I'd tell her to kiss off but she's the only one mildly intelligent enough to be around."

John gaped at Sherlock in mock offense. "Oh! So am I just some dolly you try to get in the backseat?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You know what I mean."

John gave him a smile. He loved these moments, when it was just them two. Alone. Talking just like any other couple. It wasn't like in school, where they were careful around each other. Every word they said to one another was deliberate, carefully chosen so as not to tip anyone off. Not give anyone reason to raise an eyebrow. 

John's smile suddenly disappeared when he remembered why they were here, what he was there to do.

"Sherlock, I have...I have something I need to tell you." John stuttered out.

"Go on,"

John pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his tan trousers. He handed it wordlessly to Sherlock. He didn't even need to look at it, he knew. He knew what it was, it was almost an epidemic, eighteen-year-old boys across the country received these letters like a virus, a disease. 

"What is this?" Sherlock asked, although John was sure he had already guessed correctly. 

"Open it,"

Sherlock did so and looked at the paper in disgust, his fears confirmed in stern, black ink. He screwed his face up in rage, he ripped the paper and let the pieces fall to the ground. He lept up, fisting his hands in his hair, biting his bottom lip to suppress a scream.

"I've been drafted, Sherlock. They're sending me to Vietnam."


	2. Bang, Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July, 1967
> 
> "Oh, God. I'm scared, Sherlock. I'm so scared. I don't want to go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Bang, Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) by Nancy Sinatra.

"I'll only be gone for a few weeks and then they'll give us a furlough after boot camp. I'll be back before you know it."

Sherlock and John were wrapped around each other in the tree house in John's backyard. The entire cul-de-sac were out on their lawns, making hamburgers on the grill, playing games in the street, lying on blankets in their front yards waiting for the fireworks to start.

"Liar, you're a terrible liar. I'll miss you every second you're away."

"You'll be fine. Just surround yourself with all your experiments and you'll never even know I'm gone."

John gathered Sherlock up into his arms, hugging him tighter. 

"Promise you'll write, promise!"

John laughed, "I promise, I'll include every mundane detail in every letter." He dropped a kiss on the top of Sherlock's head. 

John sighed as he remembered the day he had told Sherlock the news. He had pulled the curly-haired boy close to him and kissed him through his tears. John grimaced at the memory, he made note to himself to erase the memory completely. That is not how he wanted to remember Sherlock, it was not a memory he wanted to keep.

"John!" A sudden call from below startled them, they both tripped over one another trying to untangle themselves and get to their feet. The voice called up to them again, "You and Sherlock get down from there and come get a hotdog!"

John poked his head out of the tree house window to see his father standing at the foot of the tree.

"Alright, Dad. We're coming."

"What are you two doing up there? The sun is setting real soon and I don't want you guys to miss the fireworks!" 

"Uh, we're just...playing cards. We'll be down in a minute."

"I'll be counting!" John's father said, turning back to walk through the sliding door into the Watson's home. 

John heard Sherlock laugh, "Is that what we're calling it now? 'Playing cards'?"

"Shut up, come on, let's get down before my dad comes back again."

John climbed down the wooden ladder and Sherlock followed suit. 

"Oh, bother. Now we have to act normal. How boring." Sherlock sighed.

As they made their way through the house and to the Watson's front yard, John couldn't help noticing how dashing Sherlock looked in his pale blue button down and khaki pants. He wanted nothing more than to take Sherlock up to his room and have his way with him, to have Sherlock writhing underneath him, begging for it.

John shook head. He couldn't get a hard on in front of the entire neighborhood. However, he just couldn't help but look at Sherlock in admiration as John's mother handed Sherlock a plate full of food John knew he'd never eat.

"John! Come over here!" 

John turned away from Sherlock to his father who was waving him over to where he and two other men were standing near the grill. John internally sighed and made his way over. 

"I was just telling Jack and Allen here about Uncle Sam paying you a little visit!"

John smiled half-heartedly at the two men, both were holding a bottle of beer. Mr. Watson busied himself with grilling while the two men stared expectantly at John, waiting for him to say something.

"How long is your basic training going to be?" Allen, the portly father of three who lived two houses away, said after it was clear John wasn't going to initiate conversation. 

"Ten weeks, more or less, I'm not too sure." 

"Are you excited?" Asked Jack, who John knew as the father of his classmate, Molly Hooper. The Hoopers lived four houses down and had been the first family to have two television sets in their home. 

"Excited for what?" John responded.

"Oh, you know! To go out and fight for your country?"

"Of course!" John replied in a sardonic tone. "I'm just aching to do my duty for a country that is so willing to let me die for something I may or may not believe in." 

"John, that's enough." Mr. Watson snapped. "Don't be so ridiculous." 

"It's true dad. I'm going to die and for what? I don't know. God bless America. Happy Fourth of July to everyone." John said before walking away from the three astonished men. John had to admit, he felt a little better now he had gotten something off his chest. 

By this time the sun had finally set and the entire neighborhood had their eyes locked on the red, blue, and yellow fireworks exploding above them. 

That's when John caught him.

Sherlock often dismissed things like this. Things like star gazing and appreciating the beauty of nature. 

"Stupid, unnecessary, pointless, and boring," He had said. 

But here he was, staring up at the sky and smiling. Actually smiling. John couldn't be too sure, and he'd never bring it up, but he could have sworn he saw a tear fall from the dark-haired boy's eye. 

This is how he'd remember Sherlock. This was the moment he'd recreate in his mind when he was God knows where, down in the mud as bullets whizzed above him. He'd remember Sherlock in this moment: young, beautiful, and smiling.

***

The two boys were standing on John's front lawn, John's parents were sitting in their pea green Ford Fairlane. The song, "Monday, Monday" by The Mamas & the Papas, was drifting out from the open windows of the car.

It was finally the day they had to say goodbye. The day John had to leave.

"It's just training," John shrugged. "I won't be sent to where all the action is yet." 

"You'll be fine, John." Sherlock turned to look at the Watson's sitting patiently. They didn't seem to be paying much attention to the boys. He leaned in and whispered, "I'll be waiting for you, John. I won't go anywhere, I promise that I am yours, I will always belong to you. I love you."

"I love you too," John whispered back. "I'll come back. I'm coming back for you, I swear."

A honk startled both of them.

"Sorry, boys, but we gotta go!" Mrs. Watson called from the passenger window. 

"Oh, God." John choked. "I'm scared, Sherlock. I'm so scared. I don't want to go."

Sherlock threw his arms around John, locking him in a tight hug. 

"It's okay, it's okay. I love you. I love you. I love you. But you have to go now, okay? You'll be all right. You're gonna be fine and you want to know why?"

John pulled back from Sherlock's embrace and brushed away the tears falling from his eyes. "Why? Why are you so sure?" 

"Because I know you'll be okay and I am always right, aren't I?" Sherlock's mouth twisted up into a smile. "I'm always right."

"I believe you," John said quietly. 

Another honk.

"Jesus-"

"Go," Sherlock said. "You have to go."

All John wanted to do was grab Sherlock by the face and kiss him breathless. Although that was all they seemed to be doing the last few weeks, kissing, but now it didn't seem like enough. 

John settled for one last, "I love you."

"I love you too, John Watson."

And with that, John turned and walked slowly to the family car. When he was settled in, he stared at Sherlock as his father pressed on the gas and pulled away from the only home he'd ever known.


	3. I Think You'll Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 1967
> 
> "You got someone serving?"
> 
> "My best friend, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" by The Beatles.

It had been three weeks since John's departure and Sherlock had never been more miserable. He was bored, he was angry, but, above all, he was incredibly lonely. 

John had been the only one to see through Sherlock's abrasive exterior. Yes, John knew that Sherlock was painfully truthful, arrogant, and at times, downright mean. But he also saw Sherlock's bravery, his tenacity for life, and even though Sherlock vehemently denied it, his huge heart. No matter what Sherlock did, there was no hiding his ability to love. 

For the first two weeks of John's absence, Sherlock had spent those fourteen days of his summer sulking in the darkness of his room. Only coming out for the restroom, the occasional cup of water, and to yell at his older brother Mycroft, who was home after finishing his third year at Princeton. 

Mrs. Holmes was pulling her cheese and broccoli casserole out of the oven for dinner when she heard a crash from upstairs.

"You idiot! Watch where you're going!" She heard Sherlock's voice. 

"Oh, shut up! You better mind the way you talk to me or else I'll tell mom-"

"You're twenty-two year old preppie and you're still running off to tattle to mom?"

Mrs. Holmes had had enough, "Boys! Stop fighting and get down here! Dinner is ready!"

Silence followed then the sound of footsteps thumping down the stairs. Mrs. Holmes suspected there was only one pair of feet clamoring down.

"Sherlock! I expect to see you down here too! Enough sulking!" 

A minute later, he heard the begrudging footsteps of her youngest son. Mycroft pushed through the swing door and into his usual seat at the dinner table, his polished loafers squeaking against the yellow linoleum. Sherlock bursted through the door soon after and Mrs. Holmes pursed her lips at the appearance of her son. Although it was six o' clock, he was still dressed in his pajamas and robe from the morning. 

"You couldn't have cleaned up for dinner?" She asked.

"Nope," He answered flinging himself into his seat.

Mycroft, noticing the empty seat beside him asked his mother,"Where's Dad?" 

"He had to stay behind at work, that's your father for you, always working." She sighed and laid the casserole onto the cooling rack in the middle of the table. "Careful, it's still hot."

Sherlock sniffed. "Not hungry." 

"Sherlock," Mrs. Holmes began. "You didn't eat last night and I haven't seen you all day. I am not going to keep fighting with you, eat something!"

"Well, I'm starving!" Mycroft exclaimed, grabbing the edge of the glass casserole pan with a napkin and loading it's contents onto his plate. 

"I know you've been down in the dumps since John left," Mrs. Holmes continued. "I'm just trying to help you. I know you'll feel much better once you've left for college in September. Meet some new people, it'll be great for you."

"I don't want to meet new people-" Sherlock began before getting cut off.

"I know John was your best friend but you have to-" She stopped, she smiled at her son before starting again. "I have to tell you something."

Sherlock had heard that before. 

"What have you done?" He asked.

"I ran into Jack Hooper at the grocery store today..."

"And?" Sherlock snapped.

"And he and I arranged a little something..."

"What. Have. You. Done?" 

Just then, the family of three heard the doorbell ring.

Mrs. Holmes smiled wickedly.

"That'll be for you."

Sherlock jumped from the table and stomped to the door, through the glass of the front door, Sherlock could see the tiny form of a figure on their doorstep. 

He wretched the door open, revealing Molly Hooper, standing there wearing a white knitted sweater, dark blue flared out jeans with a huge brown belt around her tiny waist. 

"Hey, Sherlock. Shoot, did I catch you at a bad time? Your mom said to be here at six...?"

***

Sherlock found himself in the passenger seat of Mr. Hooper's Ford Mustang since Molly had insisted on driving. She glanced at Sherlock and pushed her long hair behind her ear. 

"So..." Molly started, Sherlock groaned internally. "How's your summer been?"

"Fine."

"That's good."

Silence.

"Have, um, have you done something different with your hair?" He asked.

"What?"

"Your hair, it looks different, nice."

"Oh, thanks. I, um, I started straightening it."

"Straightening?"

"Yeah, you just take your hair and iron it straight, just like a shirt, I guess."

"Cool."

Molly attempted to save their awkward small talk.

"Do you want to listen to some music?" She asked shyly.

"I don't care," 

Molly rolled her eyes and and turned the volume up on the radio.

"Oh, I love this song!" She exclaimed, turning the music on even louder. Sherlock recognized it as "These Boots Were Made for Walkin'" by Nancy Sinatra. "Don't you think she is the coolest?" 

"Not really my area, music." Sherlock replied.

"Well, there has to be something you like. There's not much to music. Listening to a good song for the first time is a lot like being in love, I think."

Sherlock thought of a record John had played for him one night. They were John's favorite band, he was always playing the same songs over and over again but Sherlock loved it because John loved it.

"I like The Beatles, John made me listen to them all the time. I liked 'Nowhere Man'. That was my favorite."

"Oh, so you're a Beatles fan? I like them too, they're so groovy. Have you listened to The Moody Blues or The Mamas & the Papas? They're far out!"

"I haven't,"

"Oh, I'll have to take you down to the record store sometime and I'll introduce you to some decent music. I'm saving your life, really."

Sherlock fidgeted in his seat. "Listen, Molly, this...whatever it is...I, uh, hope you don't see this as a date because you're fine but-"

Molly snorted, "Please! Trust me, this is not a date. Your mom begged my dad to use me to get you out of your house for once! I'm just trying to be nice."

"Oh," Sherlock said lamely.

Molly immediately felt guilty for her harshness. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound mean. Your mom...she just worries about you. We all do. We know it's been tough for you since John left. You guys were best friends. We all miss him, but you can't just shut down because he's gone. You gotta keep going."

"Thank you," Sherlock said eventually.

"For what?"

"Helping me, John did that too, you know."

Molly smiled at him. "You know, it'll be nice to hang out with someone who isn't going to get blitzed and throw up on my shoes. You ready to have fun tonight?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Define fun."

"We're going to meet up with some friends of mine at the Tiki drive-in. It'll be a gas." 

***

Molly led Sherlock through the rows and rows of cars that were parked in the dirt lot of the drive-in. Sherlock had come here often with John, although they didn't spend their time walking about, or even watching the movie for that matter. 

A girl holding a beer can tripped into Molly, accidentally spilling the alcohol onto her waist length hair. Molly gasped, "Watch where you're going!"

The girl looked indignant. "Chill out. It's just a little beer, you don't need to flip out."

"Kiss off, Sally." Molly grabbed Sherlock's arm and led him away. "You know her? Sally Donovan?"

"I know of her." 

"She's such a bitch and you know she's dating that misogynistic dick, Daniel Rosenberg?" 

Sherlock thought that he could care about nothing less than Sally Donovan's love life but instead he said, "I didn't. By the way, where are we going?"

"Oh, we're looking for Greg and Tripp. Some friends I met at this rally I went to last month."

"Rally for what?"

"Oh, it was a rally for peace in Vietnam, the dudes who organized the rally are very passionate about bringing home the troops." Molly explained. 

Sherlock's interest suddenly peaked. "They want to bring the troops home?"

"Yeah, they're all about love and peace. They don't think war is ever the answer. It's lovely, really."

Molly suddenly perked up, she waved her hand frantically and jumped up and down (Sherlock deduced that Molly was in fact not wearing a bra), trying to get someone's attention. "Hey!" She shouted. "Greg! Tripp!"

Sherlock followed Molly towards two young men leaning against the hood of a red convertible. 

"Hey, Molls!" The taller of the two called. He was lanky and blond, wearing dark blue jeans and a brown corduroy jacket. 

"Hey, Tripp!" She hugged the tall boy with a little more enthusiasm than was normal for friends. Sherlock deduced that the other boy, who was wearing a brown jacket that had frayed ends hanging off the sleeves, was Greg. 

"Boys, this is my friend Sherlock." Molly said. The two gave Sherlock nods and a handshake. After allowing Molly to handle most of the conversation, Sherlock was panicked to see Molly and Tripp climbing into the backseat of Greg's car, leaving Greg and Sherlock alone. 

Luckily for Sherlock, Greg didn't seem too interested in small talk, so the two sat in silence and watched Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway's exploits as Bonnie and Clyde on the big screen.

Sherlock couldn't help himself, he had something on his mind. He cleared his throat, "So, Molly told me you guys met at a peace rally?"

Greg turned to Sherlock. "Yeah, Tripp and I are always helping out when he and Molly aren't sucking face!" He said loudly, making sure the couple in the backseat heard him. 

"Why? You interested? You got someone serving?"

Sherlock turned back to the screen. "My best friend, John."

"John Watson?" Greg yelped. "No fucking way! The short blond kid?"

Sherlock laughed. "That's the one."

"John is serving in 'Nam? Shit, I l knew him! We had gym together when I was a senior. I'm sorry to hear that, man."

"I shouldn't be the one you feel sorry for." Sherlock retorted.

"Damn, now ain't that a trip?" Greg pulled put a cigarette. "Want?" He offered.

"No. Thanks." Sherlock shook his head.

"Man, you know how I escaped servin'?" Greg asked. "When I was seventeen I got into a rumble with this slick greaser fucker and the asshole bashed in my knee with a baseball bat. Gotta hand it to him though. He fucked up my leg just in time, saved my life." He chuckled at the memory. 

Sherlock balled his fists tight, trying not to think of John. Why couldn't it be John who bashed his knee in or had flat feet or a spot on his lung? It shocked Sherlock that something so trivial could be so important. 

"Hey," Greg said softy. "You wanna come with me and the gang down to the city next weekend? There's gonna be peaceful protest outside city hall. Do you think you can hang?"

Sherlock worried at his bottom lip before nodding his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I want to go."

The two laid against the windshield under the dark starry sky, engrossed in the story of two star-crossed lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell by now, I reference a lot of music during the late sixties. I just think it's a great way to set the timeline and also, I believe music during this time period was the absolute BEST.


End file.
